


you fooled me from the start when you let me start to love you

by brittyelaine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s15e03 The Rupture, M/M, Pain, Post-Episode: s15e03 The Rupture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 06:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21174797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittyelaine/pseuds/brittyelaine
Summary: They’re nothing but puppets on fucking strings to Chuck.  No matter how much Cas insists, they’re in the fucking Winchester Gospels; bowing to the mercy of that glorified fanboy.  And Dean’s been played for a fucking fool all these years.  To feel the kind of love he feels for Cas, and know that it can’t possibly be real...





	you fooled me from the start when you let me start to love you

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, I'm kind of sorry... That episode, y'all. I'm distraught. And I apologize in advance for this.
> 
> Title and lyrics at the end from ["Leaving Tonight" by The Neighborhood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cvgulss9E-o)
> 
> Come hang out on [Tumblr!](https://brittywritesstuff.tumblr.com/)

Dean swallows hard, watching just how deep those words cut into Cas. He should take them back. But he doesn’t. God help him, he doesn’t. No. No, not God help him. God won’t help him. God is the reason for all of this. God is the whole fucking reason Dean’s world is spinning out. He used to think he had free will. He used to think that maybe the one fucking thing he had in this whole forsaken rat maze was his choice. But, as it turns out, he didn’t. God unapologetically and unceremoniously ripped any semblance of free will away from him. Nothing has been real. Nothing is real. He can’t trust anything or anyone, so why should he let himself be attached?

The trouble is, though… this feels so fucking real. He’s not numb enough. He didn’t get enough whiskey before Cas approached, and all at once, it’s too much and not enough. 

_Jesus, Dean. Say something. Just fucking **say something**._

Cas is walking away, and it truly feels like Dean’s heart is being ripped from his chest. “Where are you going?” It’s not enough. It’s not enough, but it’s all he can manage. _Say something!_

Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “Cas.” His voice gives out, and he clears his throat to try again. “Cas, wait.” He pushes off the table and sets down his glass, harder than he means to. The sound echoes in the library as he drags his feet toward Cas in the war room. “Don’t--”

Cas stops and heaves a breath, turning toward Dean. “Don’t what?” 

“I didn’t…” Dean looks down at his feet, the line between his brows drawing ever-deeper. “I’m fuckin’ pissed--”

“Yes, Dean, I got that.”

“At all of it. At Jack, at Chuck, at--”

“Me--”

“No,” Dean cries. He finally lifts his head, and tears slip down his cheeks. 

“Dean, I can’t…” Cas looks down and shifts, as if searching for his words. The silence seems interminable. “I cannot continue to do this with you. I cannot continue to be your punching bag when you’re angry at the world. I have always been here. I have always come when you called. But I am suffering, too. And you don’t care--”

“I do.” Dean takes a step forward, and inhales sharply. “God, Cas, I do fucking care!”

“When have you ever shown me that you care, Dean?” Cas’s voice raises and echoes through the war room. Dean swallows hard. “I have always been here. I have begged you to talk to me, and have been met with disdain. I have begged you for help, and you have turned me away. I told you that I loved you--” He hears Cas’s voice break, and it breaks Dean-- “and you said nothing in return.”

“I wanted to die, Cas,” Dean says, his voice rough. He shakes his head. “When you died, I fuckin’ tried. You were gone, and it didn’t fuckin’ matter. Because I--”

“When have you ever shown me, Dean, that I matter?”

Dean doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he surges forward, grasps Cas’s face, and pulls him into a hard, heated, desperate kiss. It’s sloppy work; too much teeth and a little too bruising, but it’s there. And he does all he can to pour every ounce of emotion into it. But, to his dismay and horror, Cas plants his palms on his chest, and shoves Dean away. “Cas--” _No. Please, no._ His stomach lurches, and he can’t see straight. This can’t be the end. 

“Do you think that kissing me will change anything? I’m what goes wrong, aren’t I? I’m useless to you. A burden to you. _Dead_ to you.”

Dean is desperate. He grabs a fistful of trench coat and yanks Cas in. “I didn’t mean it.” He grasps the side of his head and leans in closer. The tears are free falling, and he does nothing to stop them. “I’m sorry, Cas. Don’t go. Please. _Please._ We’ll figure it out. But I can’t-- I can’t lose you again. Please, Cas. Please. _Please._”

“Dean…”

“Please.” He cards his fingers through Cas’s hair, gripping the back of his head. He presses his forehead to Cas’s and sucks in a breath. “I can’t lose you, too.”

Cas is silent for a moment, and he finally tilts his head to press his lips against Dean’s. It’s soft and warm and everything Dean so desperately needs--

Dean gasps as he startles awake, looking around for a moment, confused. The bottle of whiskey in his hand had slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor, rolling against the leg of the drink cart. He scrubs a hand over his face, and it comes away wet with tears. His heart is pounding, and he shifts in the chair; the leather creaking underneath him. “Fuck,” he mutters, leaning forward. 

He can still hear the echo of the heavy door that slammed shut behind Cas; a soundtrack to the deep, bitter, overwhelming pain that has settled in his chest. Always the adios. That’s what’s real. That everyone leaves. Everyone leaves Dean. Either by death or by choice, everyone leaves. It’s fucked up and he hates himself for it, but it feels more real than anything’s felt in a while. Like digging a finger into a wound, making sure the pain is still there. He kept his mouth shut, and Cas walked out. Dean’s been shot, he’s been stabbed, he’s been ripped to shreds by Hellhounds. But nothing, he decides, nothing hurt as bad as watching Cas walk out that door. 

Even if he’d had the balls to stop him… who’s to say it’s not what Chuck wanted all along. They’re nothing but puppets on fucking strings to Chuck. No matter how much Cas insists, they’re in the fucking Winchester Gospels; bowing to the mercy of that glorified fanboy. And Dean’s been played for a fucking fool all these years. To feel the kind of love he feels for Cas, and know that it can’t possibly be real... 

This deep, disgusting, filthy shame and pain Dean feels is better than any fake happiness that can be ripped away from him at any moment. And he knows, if he had asked Cas to stay… he knows if he had just fucking said something, he knows the pain at the end of that road will be so much worse than this. This, he can convince himself, is his choice. 

It hurts less.

That’s the lie he tells himself when he downs another fifth of whiskey and cries himself to sleep clutching that old, worn photo of Cas, Sam, Jo, Ellen, himself, and Bobby. 

It hurts less.

_ **All alone, all we know is haunting me… making harder to breathe. ** _


End file.
